


Come What May

by SenoraKitty



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenoraKitty/pseuds/SenoraKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With married life and a baby on the way, John and Mary have let their friendship with Sherlock fall to the wayside.</p><p>Sherlock receives an unwanted notice in the mail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim after watching Sign of Three. I make no promises on how far I will take this story. You can take this chapter as a stand alone at this point, but I will try to write more.

Sherlock stared down at the paper held between his slender fingers. He read the words over and over again, as if they would some how change their meaning. Still they stayed the same. His mind filtered through scenarios to get rid of the evidence. Throwing the paper into the fire while he lounged in his chair, morbidly contemplating where to go from there. Perhaps burning the parchment to ash with a torch would be more gratifying. As if he could some how burn away the fact that the paper itself held. It wouldn't matter how he got rid of the evidence the facts would still remain unchanged. He knew as much.

Taking a cleansing breath he sauntered over to the fireplace, tossing the envelope by the fire wood for extra kindling. He folded the paper into quarters, and stuffed it inside the cavity of the skull on the mantle. He nearly chuckled to himself at the irony.

–

John eyed the clock on the wall, anxious to get home. He had a lull between patients, and was on the phone checking in with Mary.

 _“I keep having to go like a bloody race horse! This is getting ridiculous,”_ he heard his wife say on the other end of the line. He tried not to smile at the obvious irritation in her voice. He knew the toll the pregnancy was taking on her. He wanted nothing more then to be by her side, taking care of her like a doting husband and father-to-be should be. However, bills needed to be paid, and they both couldn't take time off for maternity leave. So here he was stuck in the surgery while Mary sat at home all day. It was taxing on them both.

“Well it isn't like this wasn't to be expected,” he mumbled mostly to himself. “I mean this is what happens at this stage in pregnancy, yeah?”

 _“John, I've been in the loo more than I have been in bed today.”_ The annoyance in Mary's voice was growing, and John knew he was wading on thin ice. Luckily he was saved by a change of subject. _“You still going to stop by and see him after work?”_

John leaned back in his chair, releasing an exasperated sigh. He wanted to see Sherlock, he really did. He hadn't seen him in weeks, not with the final stages of Mary's pregnancy so close. “Actually I think I'll just head home once I'm done here.”

 _“John.”_ Mary's tone had gone stern, almost threatening, and he knew there would be no arguing with her.

“Alright, yeah, I'll go. I'd rather be home taking care of you, but I'll go.”

 _“That's my good man.”_ He could tell by her voice that she was smiling, and the mixture of the sound and the praise warmed his heart.

With a beaming smile on his face he said his good-byes and hung up the phone. Suddenly he felt rejuvenated and ready to tackle the rest of the day.

–

John made his way up the old familiar stairs of 221b, and casually opened the door. “Sherlock?” He called out to the flat's only tenant, almost surprised that the lanky detective hadn't met him at the door. Somehow Sherlock had managed to get in the habit of greeting people at the door, nearly heading them off before they could enter the flat. It used to be that no matter where he was in the flat, Sherlock would let anyone waltz in uninvited. However, since his return from the dead, Sherlock had seemed more on guard, more leery of the people he let into his home.

Stepping farther into the quiet room, John chanced a glance into the kitchen, where he thought he'd find Sherlock bored and working on an experiment. Again to his bewilderment the detective was not there.

The whole flat seemed far too still for there to be the presence of the consulting detective within it's walls. John nodded to himself, of course the one time in weeks that he'd think to stop by and the mad man was probably out chasing down criminals. For a moment John thought about waiting for Sherlock to return, but he couldn't be too sure of when that might be. Not only that, but he had a pregnant wife at home.

Pursing his lips he came to a decision with himself. He'd come back on his day off, maybe next time calling ahead to make sure Sherlock was home. John turned to leave, and as he did something caught his eye. He froze, utterly perplexed at what he was seeing.

On the floor sticking out by the side of his old chair was a dark mass of curls. As John looked closer he could see a pale slender hand next to them.

“Oh god. Sherlock!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John waits to find out what has happened to Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> le gasp, another chapter has appeared!

John leaned forward in the uncomfortably hard plastic chair, holding his forehead in one hand while he spoke into his phone. “...Yeah, Mrs. Hudson has been visiting her sister. There is no telling how long he was lying there.”

 _“What are the doctors saying,”_ Mary's clinical voice inquired from the other end. John could tell that she was trying to be professional, but he could still make out the underlying worry that tinged her voice.

He leaned back, debating on whether or not he should tell her. He hated the thought of causing her more stress, but he knew that not knowing would stress her out that much more. “No-no one has been out to talk to me yet.” He stammered, his own frustration rising before he quietly squashed it down. “I called Mycroft, hopefully they'll be able to give us something when he gets here.”

_“Let me know when you find out, alright? I'm going to rest up a bit. Oh and John? I love you.”_

John gave a small weary smile, the endearment bringing him little comfort under the circumstances. “Ta, love you too.” The call disconnected shortly afterward, and he found himself staring at his mobile, debating on who to call next.

Hours seemed to pass, but when John checked the clock again he found that only forty five minutes had elapsed since his call to Mary ended. He had since abandoned the idea of calling any of his and Sherlock's friends. Deciding to wait until he had at least a little more information on Sherlock's condition.

Minutes later John spotted a familiar form, in a three piece suit, sauntering toward him. It was a relief to see Mycroft in that moment. Surely the elder Holmes would be able to get the answers they needed from the elusive hospital staff.

John stood, straightening his jacket before greeting Mycroft Holmes. “I was beginning to think you weren't going to show.” 

“Dr. Watson.” Mycroft nodded, dismissive of the army doctor's comment.

Before John was able to respond a man in blue scrubs, and white coat approached them. Eagerly the man eyed Mycroft, inquiring, “Mr. Holmes?” Receiving a nod of acknowledgment a look of relief washed over the doctor's face. He shared an enthusiastic hand shake with the elder Holmes brother. “Thank you for coming, you're brother has been a bit of a handful since he has regained consciousness-”

John looked between the two men, holding up a hand to halt the conversation. “Wait you mean he is awake? Why wasn't I told?”

The doctor gave John a skeptical look, appearing thrown off by John's presence. “I'm sorry, you are?”

“John Watson, I'm his friend.” His patience was rapidly wearing thin. He was the one who called the ambulance, rode with an unconscious Sherlock Holmes all the way to the hospital, and waited hours for word on his friend's condition.

The doctor looked nervously between Mycroft and John. Trying to avoid any sort of confrontation the doctor chose his words carefully so as not to anger the man claiming to be his patient's friend. “I'm afraid we're only allowed to give patient information to the next of kin.”

With an air of authority Mycroft supported the doctor's statement, cutting off any argument from the army doctor. “Yes, and seeing as I am kin, I am the only one who need be informed.”

Between the doctor and Mycroft, John was finding it difficult to get a word in edge wise. He knew doctor patient confidentiality, he was a bloody doctor for crying out loud. His stomach churned as he realized even Mycroft was going to keep him out of the loop.

“If you would follow me Mr. Holmes, I'll take you to see him.” Turning on his heel, the doctor indicated the double doors that lead back to the A&E. Hurriedly he tried to usher Mycroft in to see his younger brother.

John shifted, unsure of what to do with himself. He wanted to see Sherlock, but the doctor and Mycroft had made it clear that he wasn't welcome to join. “Right, I'll just...”

“Go home Dr. Watson. I am sure your wife needs you.” Mycroft called over his shoulder, dismissing the army doctor. He took in John's appearance with the sweep of one hazel eye. “You're tired, and obviously over worked. I doubt you need the added stress.” 

John visibly bristled, opening his mouth for a rebuttal, but Mycroft's next words cut him off. “If there is anything about my brother's condition that you need to know about I assure you that you will be informed.” With that the army doctor found himself standing alone in the waiting area.

_

 

Mycroft stepped into the low lit room to find his younger brother, standing by his hospital bed, buttoning one of his pristine dress shirts. “And just where do you think you're going?”

“I'm signing out, where do you think I'm going?” Sherlock replied, pulling on his blazer, adjusting his suit. All the while he watched Mycroft through the full length bathroom mirror that hung on the door.

The elder Holmes breathed in a long suffering sigh through his nose. Clearly Sherlock was in one of his moods, which was to be expected after the man awoke and found himself in a hospital bed. One of the man's most hated places on earth. Even so Mycroft might as well attempt to talk some sense into his overly anxious younger brother. “You should at least wait for the tox. screen to come back.”

Sherlock bit off a bitter laugh, locking his glasz eyes in the mirror with his brother's. “We both know that there is no point in that.”

Mycroft's gaze fell to the floor as he allowed Sherlock to finish dressing in silence. Before he let Sherlock step out of the room he spoke up. “It was John who found you, by the way. Just in case you were wondering.”

Sherlock paused in the doorway, shoulder to shoulder with his brother. With his eyes fixed forward he rose his head. “I wasn't,” he admitted coldly, and without another word marched out of the room. Exiting the hospital he hailed a cab, and returned home to 221b.


End file.
